Tomato Soup
by sweetness4theheart
Summary: Only idiotic Spain would stay outside in the rain to protect his tomatoes. So now I have to look after the bastard because chigi, who else is going to? I can't even hit him, he's just that pathetic. *Side story to My Vital Regions. Can be read alone*


This is a side story to My Vital Regions – my longer fic. You should read it. This can be read as a stand-alone however.

For those who know MVR, this is set 4 weeks before the World Meeting. We only get to see Romano and Spain in this, since they rock but there is mention of other characters.

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><p><strong>Tomato soup <strong>

-*Bastard, child, oblivious idiot, I say choke on your words but I don't really mean it. Just get better, be yourself again and let me get angry. I don't know how to act when I can't be violent."

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><p>"What are you doing you idiot? Get back in the bed, back in the bed!" I screamed at the stupid, bleary-eyed <em>child <em>who is half out of the bed and half on the floor. I punctuated my words with my feet stomping over to him, because for once, I'm not actually going to hit him even if he deserves.

He's too pathetic too hit right now; it would make me feel like a school yard bully throwing a cat into the sewer. And no, I never did that, (Nations don't really go to normal school, the whole aging thing? Yeah) because that shit is wack and girls don't like that stuff. And I like girls. Cause they're nice and soft.

I threw Spain back into the bed, pulled the blanket out from under him and then smoothed it over the top. I may have tucked him in a little too tight but at this point I'm seriously contemplating cuffs.

You know, to keep him tied to the bed. Chigi, no, you know what I mean. Because he's sick and stupid and he keeps getting up. Not for anything, like, sexual, because he's Spain and he's silly and useless and _sick._

"Lovi, Mi Tomato, Chibimano. You have tomato on your shirt~" the idiot sang, long tapered fingers patting my cheeks and I, with god's divine grace (patience, he has finally decided to give me a basket of patience for this bastard), take hold of his hand and set it back under the blanket.

"I have tomato on my shirt because damnit, I was trying to cook. So stop doing silly things, chigi, and let me finish making my soup for you to eat so I can go home and stop having to look after such a bastard."

Green eyes blinked at me and Spain's bottom lip pouts. He pouts at me! What is with that? It looks sort of cute.

It pisses me off, because Spain is not cute. He's annoying and optimistic and sick because he stayed outside in the rain to protect his precious tomatoes. And yes, I can sort of understand that because _tomatoes freakin rock_ but now he's got a fever and I'm the one left to deal with this.

I shouldn't have come over, if I hadn't I wouldn't have seen him sprawled out on the kitchen, a half eaten tomato in his hand and his clothes still soaked wet.

If I hadn't come over then I wouldn't have freaked out, well, I'd kicked him with my foot and threatened to crush his vital regions but he had stirred and that threat always worked so yeah, I thought maybe Spain wasn't being his oblivious, sleepy self (it wasn't even siesta time) so I'd felt his forehead.

I could cook pasta on it. Not that I'd want to because that was a Veneziano thought and I didn't think about my brother or what he thought because chigi, he was all ve~ ve~ with that potato bastard around and he didn't know what the potato-lover was doing to him and he didn't listen to me when I told him to ditch the freak (it was German psycho-manipulation! Next I know, Veneziano would be coming home with a handful of Potato and Wurst again – it had happened during the Second World War.)

I'd dragged the sweating, feverish man to bed and ran to the telephone. Because no, maybe I wasn't as amazing as my brother was (yeah, shut up, so what if I can't do household chores and all that stupid stuff and no one's likes me because I'm too not-happy and not-stupid cause they can all get stuffed) and maybe I didn't know what to do with sick people.

Usually when I got sick Spain took care of me.

And when I took care of Spain it was because he had wounds and cuts and _blood _all over. Not because of a silly, _human _cold.

So I had run to the phone. To call someone. Because it was the responsible thing to do and I was an older brother and I knew about responsibility. I had to fix up all of Veneziano's mistakes and then I had to fight when he dragged us into war with that power-hungry blonde giant and his crazy ass brother.

But I hadn't known who to call.

But Spain had murmured on the bed and tossed and turned and chigi, I could do this! I wasn't useless! I wasn't!

Yeah, I may have stood by the telephone for quite a while. And yes, looking back on it, leaving Spain in his wet clothes probably wasn't the best idea but whatever, you weren't there and I was, so deal with it.

"Lovino," Spain had called out, voice raspy and I'd twitched, turned around and rushed by his side. Not like a panicked wife or any of that crap that people in love act like because that was not our relationship and I hadn't been worried.

But back to where I was now.

So yeah, I'd called some people (I was not a coward okay?) and now I knew what to do.

The biggest problem was Spain. He seemed to enjoy ignoring my orders and refused to stay in bed. He also _kept talking._ He wouldn't stop. You'd think someone with a 111 degree fever would shut the hell up, wouldn't you? Maybe mumble incomprehensibly but no. Spain had to be different.

Antonio had to be special, annoying, beautiful Antonio. Not that he was beautiful, cause he wasn't. He was a guy and guys were guys and girls, yeah, girls were pretty and stuff.

"You need to take the shirt of, Lovino." Okay, I don't like the way he says that because there's something wrong with face now (other than the usual and the fever that's making _him _look like a tomato and I'd call him that for payback but I did another time years ago and he'd just squealed, like a freakin pig and then he'd hugged me and squished our faces together and said that's we looked just alike.)

I'd learnt that you can't reason with someone like Antonio. Not that it stopped me, but it was less reasoning and more just threatening to bite his ears off if he came near me. Neither he nor my brother really ever listened to that threat.

I don't know why. I'd totally go through it.

Wait … my shirt?

"Aah," I yelled out, manly of course, because a certain Spaniard had yanked from my standing position and drawn me down to the bed. I yelled again, and my hands flailed because Antonio was singing some song about tomatoes and _he was pulling off my shirt._

"What are you doing, chigi?"

"Mi tomato is so very dirty, I must clean him before I eat him right? That's what you always do with tomatoes," the idiot smiled at me, well, I saw it momentarily because the shirt was now being yanked up and over my head so my sight was sort of blurred and I could smell all the tomatoes and spices over my shirt and maybe it was a complete mess but that didn't mean the bastard had to undress me.

Wasn't he meant to be sick? Sick people shouldn't be able to do this. Though Antonio had come back from wars and still smiled at me (fake and irritating though it was) and he'd made me dinner even though I said I didn't want to eat his food and tried to make my own.

Now, I'm a great cook I'll have you know, as good as Veneziano, even better probably. But when I was younger I couldn't reach all the things I wanted and I knocked over pots and pans everywhere. So I let him cook, because it was nice of me and he so obviously wanted to.

Hmph. Anyway.

Oh, my shirt was –

"Bastard, what the hell?" I screeched because my head had popped out from the t-shirt, I was able to breathe and Spain had already thrown the shirt across the room. "Oi, what are you –"

Spain was leaning over me, my eyes seeing the line of his arm as it went past me and pressed down by my head. His was grinning but it was flushed and a little off and I could feel the body heat emanating from him this close.

"You're looking after me."

I frowned, wrinkled my nose, crossed my arms and turning my head away.

"Well, someone has to."

No, that wasn't what I meant to say. I was meant to yell at him and say he was wasting my time and then storm off, because I didn't care. I should say that he had to get better on his own because this was his own stupid mistake and not something caused from being a Nation.

Antonio leant down, his breath heavy against my neck and I froze.

"W-what are you d-doing, bastard?"

"You're rushing around, calling everyone, even people you hate, all to get me better. You're like a little nurse," he whispered softly against my neck. But it sounded dark and smug to me and my face went red.

"Bastard," I screeched, kneeing him in the stomach. The air left him in a woosh and he groaned.

I reached my hands out to steady him because shit, he was a sick person, and even I didn't hit sick people. Okay, well, if it was war that was different because England had had a headache once (something about a falling star? I don't know, something America probably made up) and I'd set a trap for him but stupid America had gotten involved and yeah, maybe I'd attacked sick people before but that was because they deserved it.

And Spain deserved to get hit, because really, what the hell was he doing?

Spain started laughing, and he loomed over me, all big and 'I'm-still-your-boss' like and I promptly forget any bad feelings about him. Who was I kidding? He'd be fine, even if he was sick.

Antonio ran a hand down my chest, in between my nipples and I breathed in a harsh breath. The look on his face, it was. Crap, I had to leave. I'd never stayed around when I was younger and he got like this.

He trailed a finger around my belly button and raised a leg up and over so he was straddling me. My mouth was dry and his eyes were glittering as he smiled crookedly.

"G-get off of me, you i-idiot. You're sick."

"Hey, Lovi," Antonio giggled, "you clean tomatoes with water." I frowned, because well yeah, obviously and Spain knew that, no matter how sick he got (because, like me and this was the only case we were alike – we remembered everything and anything about tomatoes no matter how bad we got, though washing it was just basic hygiene.)

He licked his lips and, his hand, with those long tapered fingers, flattened out on my stomach and I couldn't really breathe and everything was tingling funnily.

"But I don't have any water for this tomato."

"What the hell do you -"

Antonio leant forward, all bigger than me and he pressed his warm mouth to my nipple, the tongue swirling and oh god, oh god.

Wait, wait! God. Ah, I was straight, straight. Like God wanted me to be. Catholic, Catholic, Catholic!

I raised my hands, went to push at Antonio's head but he did something with the hand on my stomach and he mouth was nipping and biting and okay, maybe I didn't push him away but instead my hand was grabbing a handful of hair and some weird noises were coming out of my throat.

"Ah, chigi. G-get off. No, stop Antonio …"

Said man pulled up, lips wet and he cocked his head, his legs thick and just _there,_ either side of my hips.

"Say it again," he demanded and I tried to sneer.

"What, for you to get off?"

Oh no, I realise how bad that sounded as soon as it left my mouth and I knew Spain had been hanging around Frenchie and that other potato-bastard too long cause he smirked, and my Antonio didn't smirk often, only when – not that he was my Antonio. Because he wasn't. He was just my old boss. That's all.

"Don't mind if I do, but you first."

My eyes widened and I shook. "Spain?"

He grasped the back of my neck, lifted me so our faces were aligned and I moved my hands so they were grabbing at his shirt, ready to push him away.

"No, Antonio, called me Antonio."

I swallowed and head-butted him.

The Spaniard went back, wincing and I took the moment to lunge off of the bed. I whirled around and he was already fine, eyeing me with the same face, the same look and feel, as when he wanted gold, or jewellery or blood.

I was not one of his lusts, I wasn't. And he'd gotten over the others, he'd come back to the silly, buffoon-like, innocent guy he was. They were different times, the world was different. He would get over me too. Not that he was into me or anything, it was just the fever, okay.

I wasn't scared of him, chigi. I wasn't.

Who would be scared of Spain? He was pathetic and he wouldn't ever hurt me. Would he?

Spain, his shirt wet from his fever and his cute little pyjama bottoms (tomatoes) hanging on him swiped his curled hair back with a hand, but I couldn't move under his gaze. Which was pathetic because he was just looking at me but I was gnawing at my lip and I felt shudders rake up and down my body.

And something was stirring in me, something that only girl's should only be able to stir up because he watched me like people sometimes watch Feliciano.

Veneziano.

Italy.

Not North Italy, just Italy. But damnit, I was Italy too and yeah, I didn't need anyone, but people sort of, maybe, overlooked me and Spain had, once, but he'd said sorry. And he'd stuck with me, even though I was cranky and an ass and I didn't know how to express my feelings without swearing of physical violence.

It might be because he was sort of like my brother, like my twin, with that same happy, blissful personality, that I couldn't push him away and keep him away. Not that I felt that way about my twin.

Who would? The idiot was an idiot. My idiot though. My silly brother I had to protect. The brother still in-love with the Holy Roman Empire, the dead Holy Roman Empire. We all knew that he was gone, Feli too. And maybe Germany would, but being around him must be painful because he was -

Feliciano and Spain, though they might have some similarities, were completely different. Feliciano would never look at someone like the way Antonio was looking at me.

"Is little Lovi scared of me?" Spain asked and his tone was cheerful but it didn't match his expression and it didn't match what he just said.

I took a step back.

"Little Lovi never has to be scared of me."

"W-who would be?" I demanded, but it sounded weak and like a question and I wasn't weak.

Spain coughed, and his head wobbled. "Because I will always treat _my_ Lovi well. So well that he'll always come back to me," Spain continued, ignoring my words.

I fisted the material of pants and watched as he coughed, though that grin was there. The one he wore when he'd been a pirate, when he's taken lands for himself and been an Empire.

"I don't come back," I said softly. Something was behind my eyes and it burned but I didn't let it out. "I'm not yours," I denied and I turned, storming out.

Storming out to get a new cloth. That bastard.

He was just sick, he'd be back to normal soon. Soon.

I got a new bowl of water, a new cloth and medicine (I'd been getting a new one and the medicine China had told me about when I'd heard Spain crash out of bed, irritating bastard that he was. France had told me to love him better, England had offered his spells and the others. Ugh. Useless. America even suggested a hamburger on the forehead, said it always worked for him.)

I came back, paused in front of the door and no, everything was fine and I was fine damn it, because I'm Italy, South Italy and unlike my brother I'm not a coward.

Unless it's smarter to be.

I went to knock, but stopped because hey, I was looking after him so I didn't need to, besides, I never had. I entered, and Spain was lying back on the bed, the blanket half-heartedly pulled over him.

I set the bowl and medicine down, wet the cloth and set to easing his fever.

A hand grasped my wrist and I jumped, trying to pull away but even sick, Antonio's grip was strong as ever.

"I'm so glad you're here, Lovino," he said.

"Pfft, you sure you don't want my brother?" I spat heatedly, still trying to get my wrist away.

Spain's eyes were clouded with fever, his hair hanging limp and wet on his forehead but his voice was strong and sure. "No, Lovi, I'm happy with you."

I squeezed the cloth too tight, staring at him and my face was like a freaking radiator cause I was emitting so much heat. So obviously I threw the cloth at him.

"Chigi! Obviously. So sit there and put that wet cloth on your forehead and I'm going to make some of my awesome tomato soup. Chigi!'

'Aw, but Lovi, aren't you going to give me the medicine?"

"You can take it yourself," I replied snarkily but he just blinked and gave me this pathetic expression, like he couldn't do anything and his bottom lip was all trembling and his eyes watering.

'Ch. Don't call me Lovi bastard."

"But it's your name?"

I unscrewed the medicine, poured the right amount into the cup already there from before and held it up to him.

"Only Feliciano is allowed to call me by my human name. Don't think we're that close."

"Eh?" Spain whined and when he grabbed the medicine, he sniffed it and refused to swallow. "But we are close Lovi~ I'm boss Spain and you Chibimano."

"Drink your medicine," I ordered grumpily. "And I'm not a child anymore."

"Oh~ I noticed," Spain laughed.

"Drink your medicine," I repeated because that was why I brought it up and I wanted to change the subject.

Spain wrinkled his nose. "But it tastes eewy."

"Just bloody swallow it, I'm not waiting all day."

"Ahhh. But I don't wanna," Spain whined.

"You have to get better because your Spain damn it, and you need to represent yourself at the meeting. So you've got four weeks to get better bastard and I'm not going to wait on your fat feet and hands the hold time, chigi."

And so it continued.

For ten minutes.

I even tried forcing it down his throat but I was obviously going easy on him. Because he was sick and all.

And so I snapped, pulled the medicine from where it was half in my hands, half in Antonio's, threw my head back, poured majority of into my mouth, let go of the cup, grabbed Antonio's face and dragged him in for a kiss.

The ignorant fool was so surprised that he swallowed all the medicine that poured from my mouth to his. Which was lucky, because otherwise I would have had to keep my mouth pressed against his for longer and it was even lucky that his mouth had been open.

I jumped back as soon as it was done. It had been necessary. Traumatising, yes. But necessary. The tomato bastard would die without my help.

"Ugh, medicine is disgusting."

Antonio blinked those large green eyes at me, still dazed. It was the fever, obviously, not the momentary touch of our lips which wasn't making me all red and funny feeling because it didn't even count as a kiss.

Not that I wanted to anything with him that counted as a kiss. Cause he was a boy. And that was homosexual and I was not homosexual.

"'But you taste so sweet Lovi,' Antonio murmured softly, staring at my lips and I raised the back of my wrists to wipe away any of the medicine (if it was there, which it was cause otherwise he would have no reason to stare there.)

I felt a flush come up from below my neck and looking at Antonio, he reminded me of a big kid. It was like we'd swapped rolls and I was caring after him like he'd done (attempted to) for me when I was sick as a child. Though mine was because of my Country, not because I slept outside in the rain. Jeez, he was almost as idiot as that Hamburger-lover America.

I patted Antonio's head. "You aren't going to remember any of this in the morning are you Antonio?"

"Hey, you called me Antonio again~" Spain said with excitement but his eyes were already starting to droop.

"Yes, you silly goof ball, now go to sleep." And if anyone says that I was all nice and stuff like that, I'll deny it. I wasn't even that nice to my own brother. Sometimes. Not really. It depended on how annoying he was.

"My little Lovi. Love mi tomato."

Love. No, I was ignoring what he said. He was delusional.

"Yes, yes, goodnight," I reiterated, tucking him in and resting my forehead against his once his eyes were closed. It wasn't like that, it was just the best way to check his temperature. Geez.

I went to leave the room but I paused at the door and turning back to see Antonio smiling sleepily at me. I frowned.

"If you tell anyone I'll fucking kill you."

Antonio giggled, wiggled further under the blankets and his voice came out in a muffled, "ne, Lovino. Is something burning?"

I paused, Antonio closed his eyes and -

"Fucking chigi. The soup!"

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><p>This was never planned but I was sick of the theory side of my assignments and studying Japanese, I couldn't write my novel cause I need to go over the first one, so I needed to do something creative and I'd just updated My Vital Regions. And then I read a fic where Romano tries to cook Spain tomato soup but he makes the kitchen a mess and Spain distracts him so he utterly fails.<p>

It inspired me so I had to write this. Spain is a little darker and more honest with his feelings, Romano actually takes control (ah, the medicine kiss) and the idea of all the people Romano rang when he was in an absolute panic (Spain doesn't know that) cracks me up. He basically called nearly every Nation in the world and they all gave good/bad advice. China's was the best, it's a remedial medicine that he specially made and sent over to Romano.

How nice :)

By the way - Russia suggested Vodka, or Spain becoming one with him. Kolkolkol.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed. If you liked it, go read MVR. If you read MVR, here's an extra for you.

Reviews are always appreciated!

Accept my love :)


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